My parents' piano has been through a lot. Note the chipped keys in the picture, chipped by me with a hammer when I was four or five. (Don't ask me how or why I had a hammer then.)
It hasn't seen a lot of use in recent years, but I like to plonk around on it when I'm home. (The hand in the photo actually belongs to my nephew Shane.) It's not the best sounding piano. The action is wonky, and it's only marginally in tune with itself. But the sound of it brings back lots of memories, in the same way that familiar smells do. Because of the nostalgia evoked when playing it, the stuff I play on it these days usually sounds like this.
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